Acta Sanctorum
by Lina1890
Summary: If you were expecting a saint...sorry to disappoint.


"Of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old loves are the worst."

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_

_Spring, 1990_

_Savannah, Georgia_

If I don't move, I can feel the pulse on my fingertips._**Thump….thump…thump.**_

If listen hard enough, I can hear the blood rushing from my toes to my ears_. __**Shhh…shhhh…shhhh.**_

_I don't mind_ the incessant pounding or the tiny high pitched noise-a signal that too much blood is rushing to my head.

In fact, it's almost lulling. It's peaceful; I want to stay here…**forever**. Yeah, I think…I'll st-

"**ABIGAIL LACARDIA GABRIEL WASHINGTON**, **WHAT in the LORD'S NAME ARE YOU DOIN' HANGIN IN THAT DAMN TREE!?"**

I flinched. But I didn't move. _Maybe if I'm still enough and quiet enough, I'll disappear._

"**ABIGAIL, IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF THAT DAMN TREE, SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL-"**

"Alright, mama, you don't have to yell", I said quietly as I reached my hands up to grab the branch my legs were placed. As soon as I knew my hands were secure, I dropped my legs and jumped down to the ground below me_." I didn't fall on my knees this time," I thought as admired the giant oak, " I'm getting bett-"_

"ABIGAIL!" My mother yelled to get my attention. I slowly looked at her. She was shaking with anger now. _Why was she so mad? _

I took in her appearance. She wore a light green summer dress that billowed around her knees with a beige robe over it. Her was black hair was pulled into a small ponytail at the nape of her neck, exposing her brown oval shaped face. Her expression was restrained anger, but if you looked at her eyes you could see that she didn't want to be. She was almost…apologetic. She was barefoot. From where I stood, I could make out the red fingernail polish she wore all the time. She loves that color, but I think it's only because-"

"Abigail," she said softly while looking at me with a sad expression; the anger long-gone, "it's three in the mornin', why are you outside?" It was like she was pleading me for an answer. ANY answer, but the one I have been giving her since I was four.

I blinked. "I couldn't sleep and…" I looked at her begging brown eyes, "I thought I would climb this tree one last time before we moved," I lied.

Relief washed over her face. She looked at me and smiled. She beckoned me to come into the house. "Come on, baby, let's get you to bed."

I smiled faintly at her as I walked up to her to give her hug.

She smelled like honey and peppermint. It was a warm smell…it always made me smile, even if for a second. Every problem or sadness I might have had almost disappeared….._almost_.

She looked down at me and smiled with her eyes, "You want to sleep in the room with your ma, tonight?"

I nodded, not ready to leave the comforting feeling I had when I held her. In her arms, I felt…normal.

"Well, come on," she untangled herself from my hold.

I reluctantly let her go. I looked at her as she turned to walk up the stairs with her green dress moving around her knees. I went to the backdoor and latched the lock, as I turned around to head up the stairs a memory invaded my mind. But, it was a _welcome _memory.

___________________________________________________________________________

I was no older than four. There was a storm outside. Ma had heard me whimpering from my room_._

_I hated storms._

She sat down on my bed and tried to untangle me from the shelter I created with my covers. She failed miserably.

She giggled while a deeper voice laughed.

_Papa._

"Well, I guess there's no point in askin' if you want to sleep in the room with us tonight," he said with amusement in his voice.

I jumped from under the covers and ran to him. "I do, papa," I said as I reached my hands out to him.

My mother laughed and it carried across the room. To me, it silenced the storm outside.

_She doesn't laugh like that anymore._

He gathered me in his arms. He smelled like oak trees and….no…he smelled like home.

"Well wife, let's get this little monster to bed."

"I'm not a monster, daddy." I giggled as he carried me to their room. He and my ma laughed.

As soon as we entered the room, I wiggled out of his arms and jumped into the bed and slid myself underneath the floral printed comforter.

"Well, make yourself at home," my mother said with a smile as she slid into the bed next to me. She wrapped me in her arms.

My pa looked at us…like he was committing us to memory. He turned off the lights and crawled in the bed next to me. He kissed me on the forehead.

He whispered to us, the storm fading away with his words, "I love you, my darlins', now and fo'eva".

I looked at him with sleepy eyes and added, "and you'll never ever leave us?"

He looked at me and smiled, "never, baby, never." I smiled and my eyes closed slowly; drifting off into the sweet dreams.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

As soon as it ended, I continued up the stairs.

I walked into my mama's room and watched her sleeping form on the bed, but I didn't get in bed with her.

_I never do._

_I haven't since he died._

_I am too scared._

_He doesn't want me to be; I wish I wasn't, but I am._

I looked to the left of my mother's sleeping form; there was _another form_, laying there next to her.

My chest tightened.

He looked just like _papa._

I averted my eyes from the bed and walked out of the room.

As I entered my bedroom, I wiped my face. At some point, I guessed, I cried. I don't know when, though.

I closed my door and walked over to my bed. I looked over my comforter.

"It looked _so_ soft," I thought, " but I wouldn't be sleeping tonight."I sat down on the bed, admiring the light the moon casted on the wooden floors of my bedroom.

I won't think about when my pa died.

If I pretend I forgot, I won't remember that today's the anniversary of his death.

If I lie, like my mother wants me to, that figure in the bedroom isn't there. If it's not there, then there is no figure to resemble my father.

I clenched my hands in anger. I held them in a tight fist until I could barely feel my hands.

I released them.

"Ghosts aren't real," I stated out loud to myself.

But even as I said those words, I didn't believe them.

Authors note-Winchesters are coming soon you guys. Just makin sure my character has a little substance to her.^^


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